


Wash Away the Flames

by anthonysstark (orphan_account)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:30:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/anthonysstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The flames eat everything they can touch like a starving beast, turning into ashes what was once a blooming forest. The air is crowed with smoke, making it hard to breathe and see; his ears are ringing so badly from the explosions he can barely even hear anymore. His brain feels like it’s been fried and left to rot on top of the sun, the rawest instinct of survival dragging him though the fires until his legs finally reach the teleportation coordinates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wash Away the Flames

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing this pairing so be gentle with me~

The flames eat everything they can touch like a starving beast, turning into ashes what was once a blooming forest. The air is crowed with smoke, making it hard to breathe and see; his ears are ringing so badly from the explosions he can barely even hear anymore. His brain feels like it’s been fried and left to rot on top of the sun, the rawest instinct of survival dragging him though the fires until his legs finally reach the teleportation coordinates.

Kirk doesn’t know where the rest of the landing crew his, hoping that somehow they got safely back to the ship before him, but deep down knowing how unlikely that was. The second he beams up back to his ship is the second a deafening roar sounds from the planet beneath him. The ancient volcano with the size of a small country is erupting, and the Enterprise already has coordinates for everywhere but there. The rest of the landing crew is nowhere to be seen, and Kirk has never felt so much guilt in his entire life.

It’s worse than the fire, a pain growing inside his chest with every step he takes. McCoy starts screaming at him as soon as he sees him, but Kirk carelessly brushes his friend away as he heads to his quarters. He doesn’t need to be shout at; he doesn’t need someone to tell him how badly he messed up because he already knows it perfectly well. He doesn’t need people to give him pity or rage eyes; he doesn’t need anything from any of them.

Inside his quarters it’s warm, the lingering touch of Vulcan biology making their room hotter than anywhere else on the Enterprise. Despite that, the familiar heat Kirk has grown accustomed to is nothing like the deathly one from forest. No, this heat is pleasant, almost like a careful caress on his skin as he strips away his clothes, constantly reminding Kirk of what he has now. Of whom he has.

Spock isn’t there, but this doesn’t surprise Kirk in the least. Somebody needs to be on the bridge, making sure the Enterprise gets back to a steady course. Somebody needs to report to Starfleet what happened, and Kirk knows Spock is probably already doing it, aware of how much his Captain hates doing reports.

It’s a good thing Spock isn’t their quarters then. That way he can’t see the burning marks on Kirk’s body where the flames had crawled into, can’t see the ashes clouding his skin, the blood now encrusted to every wound. It’s indeed a very good thing, because that way the First Officer can’t see his Captain shaking like a madman as he steps beneath the scorching waters of a real shower, water that would have been uncomfortable to even a Vulcan, but feels only like a faint whisper on Kirk’s body.

He doesn’t know much time goes by; seconds, minutes, maybe even hours. The water keeps pouring in an endless stream, trying to dissolve Kirk’s worries and failing miserably as his shoulders don’t relax the smallest fraction. Kirk stands there, with his head thrown back against the wall and his body aching, no sure if he’s crying or if it’s just the water running down his face.

The landing crew had been composed of fifty people. Fifty engineers, researchers, officers and security personnel, and somehow he’d been the only survivor. Fifty people under his command and not one had returned. Kirk is still unclear on what had happened exactly, but that’s a detail for later when he’s writing apology letters to the family of the deceased. For now what matters is that he had failed.

Spock finds him when the idea of collapsing on the shower and seeing where that leads him starts sounding like a good one. He doesn’t say anything, silently stripping away all his clothes instead and folding them on the counter with meticulous care.

Kirk is unable to look away - not even for the smallest second - his eyes glued to the gorgeous creature in front of him. Normally it’s Spock’s lean muscles that attract him, his toned physic that constantly makes Kirk’s eyes water at the sight of. This time though, it’s Spock’s eyes that attract Kirk. His human eyes, full with the emotion his face so carefully avoids to convey, complete with so much forgiveness and compassion that it almost makes Kirk’s knees give in under him.

Spock steps inside the steaming shower, neglecting to mention how the water’s temperature is too high for Kirk’s human skin for the chance of hugging his Captain instead. Kirk is shocked, his arms hanging limply by his side as Spock carefully places his head on the crook of his neck. Spock doesn’t hug people, has never even hugged Kirk before, the physical intimacy being a bit too much for his Vulcan standards. But now there he is, hugging Kirk in an endearing, if not a little bit awkward manner.

“Thank you,” Kirk mumbles into Spock’s ear as he places his arms around Spock’s shoulders and lets the Vulcan place tiny kisses on the side of his neck.

“You’re welcome Captain.” Despite the use of his title, Spock’s voice is anything but personal. Like Kirk’s own, it seems damaged, a little bit vulnerable, a whole lot exposed.

“I’ve told you, call me Jim.” A shiver runs down his spine as Spock’s hands massage his skin, rubbing away the ash and the blood that the water hadn’t been able to. His tiny kisses grown into open mouthed ones against Kirk’s skin, a hot breathe tickling Kirk as Spock’s tongue runs down his sensitive skin, licking and sucking the places his hands had already cleaned.

Spock’s only response is a mumble into Kirk’s skin as his hands and mouth travel lower and lower. “ _Jim_.”

Kirk tries, and fails, to avoid becoming a shivering mess underneath Spock’s excessively warm hands. He isn’t cold the last bit, the scorching water still pouring incessantly on top of him preventing his temperature to drop from boiling point. The thing is that Kirk has never felt so exposed in his life, and it’s like his control of his own body is starting to slip away.

He doesn’t feel physically exposed, but that’s because Jim Kirk loves his naked body too much to feel such a thing. Instead, he feels mentally exposed. Each of Spock’s kisses is like a cut on his skin – a wordless apology for something he didn’t cause - tearing the guilt away with mindless brutality, until Kirk couldn’t feel anything but Spock’s mouth on him, finally reaching his cock.

One of his hands is braced against the wall, the other tangled in Spock’s wet hair as Spock gives the first teasing lick. He opens his dark eyes, filled to the brim with emotions that make Kirk’s insides melt into a puddle, and looks at Kirk as if he’s staring through his soul. Spock’s eyes are like an endless path to the center of the earth, burning charcoal anchoring Kirk to his feet as he feels himself start to give away.

“Oh Jesus _fuck_ ,” his other hand leaves the useless wall to grip Spock’s hair, unable to resist the temptation of guiding Spock into his cock, of leading Spock’s blazing mouth forwards and backwards around him. And Spock, he just lets him do it. No restrictions, no weird Vulcan dignity reining him in, not the smallest hint of shame as he lets Kirk fuck his mouth like he was born to do it, all the while staring at Kirk as if he’s the center of his universe.

It’s impossible, _Spock_ is impossible and Kirk has no idea how they even got together, but he doesn’t care the least bit either as long as Spock doesn’t leave.

He comes with a low groan, his eyes roll to the back of his head as he thumps his skull against the wall. Spock his licks like a wild cat, remaining on his knees as Kirk’s body begins to slide down the wall. He no longer has any energy, his muscles feel sore from running so much in so little time and his lungs are in constant pain inside his chest. He should have seen Bones, should have let the older man fix him up but it’s too late for that now, and Spock is just sitting there with a major hard-on, waiting for Kirk to decide what he wants to do next as if he’d do anything the Human wants.

Kirk later realizes that he probably would.

He pushes himself off his feet into Spock’s warm mouth. With one hand he turns the water’s temperature down, his skin already clean enough for a whole month, and with the other he pushes Spock down on the shower’s floor. They’re a little bit cramped, the stall hadn’t been made for a grown man to lie in it, but when Spock plants his feet and raises his knees he’s able to fit in reasonable comfort, and that’s good enough for Kirk.

Spock slips two of his smooth fingers inside Kirk’s mouth, already knowing what Kirk wants without Kirk having to say another word, and he releases a deep moan from the back of his throat as Kirk licks his fingertips with feverish enthusiasm. Kirk can’t help smirking against the fingers in his mouth. It’s a known fact that the day Kirk stops enjoying Vulcan’s extra-sensitive hands is the day he dies.

Afterwards Spock’s fingers slip inside his hole easily, stretching it in a leisured pace. Kirk’s already loose, would be odd if he wasn’t when considered the amount of times he bottoms, but Spock always manages to drag the experience for as long as he desires, making it feel like the very first time. Their angle isn’t very practical, with Spock having to inch forward and Kirk’s knees rubbing against the floor in an unpleasant way, but it’s still good, the burning feeling inside of him drowning out everything else.

When Kirk feels like he’s ready he bats Spock’s hands away, not waiting for approval or anything else as he lowers himself on Spock’s dick. Spock’s breath hitches in his throat, a gasp escaping his mouth before he can control himself and Kirk knows the game is about to begin.

The wonderful and incredibly delicious game where he tries to break Spock’s cool façade, where he tries to make Spock’s face portray the emotion in his eyes and release the sounds kept locked in his throat. They do it every time, sometimes Kirk wins, sometimes he doesn’t. Regardless, every time is better and wilder than the last.

Kirk doesn’t have enough strength left in his body to violently slam into Spock’s dick, luckily, Spock does. His hands leave bruises on Kirk’s hips, another reason for Bones to bitch at him later, but Bones and his bitching is the last thing on Kirk’s mind as Spock rubs against his prostate with each vicious thrust.

Spock’s control gradually slips away as he desperately tries to reach deeper inside of Kirk. It’s replaced by raw anger, maybe anger at Kirk for letting all those crewman burn in the fire, but most likely angry at the universe for having allowed such an injustice to happen, or maybe even anger at everyone in Kirk’s life for having hurt Kirk.

What the anger is about doesn’t really matter, what matters is that Spock is releasing it on Kirk in the best away ever. “Fuck, yeah baby, keep going,” Kirk’s voice leaves his mouth without him even noticing, a loud moan slipping away immediately after.

He feels all of his emotions ebb away from his body every time his and Spock’s body slam together, the guilt and hate dissolving into steam. He knows they’ll come back later, stronger and deadlier than before, but he doesn’t care because for now his body and mind are only able to feel _Spock_.

Kirk’s skin feels like it’s being pricked away by a pair of tweezers, too sensitive and too exposed because of the shower water, but he makes no signs of showing discomfort as he moans into the air, coaching Spock into letting go of everything just like he’s doing by tightening his ass around Spock’s cock.

Spock practically growls, control definitely leaving his body now with his face no longer a cool mask, but an open thing instead. He grips Kirk’s dick, which had entered the game again a couple of minutes earlier, and his hands feel like they’re burning on top of the oversensitive organ. Kirk’s whole body trembles as he grips the shower’s edge with all his might and comes on top of Spock’s chest.

Spock keeps thrusting, his movements erratic and mindless, and Kirk takes every single one of them, a low hum of pleasure inside his throat. He’s always loved it like this, when he’s tired and feels like he could sleep for a hundred years, but his partner needs _more_ and all the control peacefully glides into Kirk’s weary hands, leaving him the opportunity of being a tease. Not that he ever is, no, at least not with Spock.

When the Vulcan comes he shouts like his life is being drained away from him and his head violently hits the shower’s floor. Kirk hisses in secondhand pain though Spock shows no sign of discomfort. They dislodge themselves slowly, and without a word Spock grabs two towels while Kirk finishes cleaning himself.

A sea of steam travels into their bedroom when the bathroom’s door slides open, and the comfortable heat of their bedroom perfumes Kirk’s skin like the loveliest sleeping poison. Kirk is barely able to think or stand, and he’s grateful for that as he easily falls into a dreamless sleep.

Tomorrow he’ll feel again. Tomorrow he’ll have to endure Bones’ bitching, write a detailed report on everything that happened and apology to everyone about everything. But for now he sleeps in Spock’s warm arms.


End file.
